


When All Hope is Gone

by fallasthestars



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Post-Canon, Returning to the Unknown, Temporary Amnesia, The Unknown (Over the Garden Wall)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-03-11 03:11:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13515444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallasthestars/pseuds/fallasthestars
Summary: Wherein Wirt leads a normal life again --but sometimes, he blinks and suddenly returns to that place.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi dear reader! This is my first time writing a fan fiction and is mostly something i write when i am reaallly inspired (which rarely happens), so i won't be posting chapters often. I just wanna share this out there because i am deeply scarred by this show >.< feel free to inspire me or just leave helpful insights/comments. thank you :')

“Hey Wirt, what do you think would happen if Jason Funderburker pooped out the magic bell?” Greg asked as he carried around his frog.

Wirt wondered why his brother asked such stupid questions.

“I – I don’t know, Greg, the bell would go out covered in poop?” Wirt answered off-guardedly, annoyance dripping of his every word as he scanned through his notes.

“But if Jason Funderburker doesn’t have his magic bell, would he still be himself?” The young boy’s face contorted as he put a hand on his waist and the other on his chin as he thought of it.

“Yes, Greg. He’s still going to be a frog,” Wirt deadpanned.

Greg has been in his room for more than he liked, and Wirt was starting to lose his patience. He had been trying to focus on doing his projects and studying for the upcoming exams for once, but his little brother just had to come along and distract him even more. Not that he was already distracted with his thoughts of Sarah at all. No, he wasn’t even thinking of Sarah’s eyes and her honey voice whenever she talked. Nope, Wirt wasn’t distracted at all.

Greg suddenly gasped out loud, as if realizing something. “Oh, Wirt! But remember when –"

Wirt had enough. He furiously scratched his head and raised his hands in frustration, sending his pen across the room in the process. “Look, I’m trying to study here! Just leave me alone for a few minutes, okay?”

“Okay then, but if you ever need me and Jason Funderburker, we’ll just be outside hunting for bugs. This good ol’ frog has been croaking about how I’ve never fed him anything,” Greg chirped, and carried his frog away with him as he hummed a random tune.

Wirt sighed and closed the door. He picked up his pen which he sent flying earlier and sat back down in front of his desk. No more distractions. He had to study and ace this test, otherwise his mother would be even more convinced that something was wrong with him. He was fine. Well, not entirely. He had good friends now, and he and Sarah were getting along just fine (Wirt even thought that he might have a chance and that Sarah liked his poetry and clarinet). He had sort of stopped stuttering when talking to people from school – or from anywhere for that matter. He was sort of fine.

But sometimes, he’d go back to that place again.

He would drift off and wake up in the Unknown again, wandering off on his own. Sometimes he’d be there for an hour or so. Sometimes a whole day. Lately though, it’s been getting longer. The last time was during a family dinner the night before. One minute he was eating desert and the next thing he knew he was scooping dirt. He stayed in the Unknown for 2 days and a night, so when he was brought back again he fainted while his mother was in the middle of talking about how she and her husband were going out for the weekend. He wasn't sure if he could call it fortunate that he got a fever afterwards, because then their parents had to cancel their trip to take care of him, meaning that Wirt was saved of the trouble to babysit Greg.

Remembering the Unknown sent shivers down his spine.

Wirt actually noticed that the Unknown had been different before. Now, it seemed brighter and... clearer. The woods were still dark at times, but not gloomy. It was windy, but it wasn't spooky. Everyone seemed at peace, and travelling wasn't as bad as it was before, but it felt different.

It felt lonelier. Emptier.

However, Wirt couldn't seem to remember why or how he made such comparisons. He only remembered being there with his brother for what seemed like an eternity, but did he meet people back then? How did they escape? And why was he coming back now? He just couldn't remember -- or was there anything to remember in the first place?

Wirt suddenly saw glimpses of autumn leaves, and a pair of blue wings fluttering.

A choking sensation, and a blurry sight of wood snaked around him.

Wirt suddenly saw glimpses of a lantern; its light suddenly blown out by someone.

Darkness.

There was a nauseating feeling building up in his stomach, and his insides felt warm. Squeezing his eyes shut, forcing the feeling to go away, his body bent towards his desk. He stayed in a curled up position until it was gone, until the feeling dissipated. He opened his eyes and calmed down.

Except he couldn't.

"Shit," Wirt muttered to himself as he realized he was sitting on the dirt. Somewhere far from home.

  
  



	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: unedited chapter. written fresh from a loooong writer's block.

“This is hopeless.” Wirt sighed to himself as he collapsed by a tree stump after walking for so long that he had lost track of time. 

 

_ Great. Just great. Of course I go back to this place just when something I try to do something important. Like eating. Or studying.  _

 

To Wirt, everything still felt surreal. As if it all had just been in his mind. Was this just in his mind? A psychological trauma? He tried pinching himself. But after doing it a million times, he knew even his mind would adjust to it. This time he slapped himself. 

 

“Wake. up. Need. to slap.  **Harder** ,” he grumbled to himself as he tried hurting himself, as he researched that one can wake up from shock or some sort. In the heat of the moment and from intense frustration, he screamed and grabbed onto the sides of the tree as he banged his head onto it.

 

Pain. and more pain. But he didn’t wake up.

 

Giving up, he leaned back on the tree and slid down to sit on the grass. “This is hopeless,” he muttered for perhaps the nth time.

 

_ When will this nightmare end? _

 

***

 

Somewhere deep within the same forest, a girl clad in blue was stomping quite angrily as she huffed. Her freckle-stained cheeks had been red along with her ears, and her eyebrows were knitted together in anger. She was beyond frustrated. She was  _ furious. _ Not only did her mother remind her of turning them into bluebirds and reminding her of that  _ conehead _ , her mother also reminded her of what made her hit that bluebird in the first place.

 

_ I didn’t need to be reminded of that, _ the redhead thought to herself. Guilt was burning at the back of her mind, settling unpleasantly in her stomach because she still hasn’t changed. She was still the same old hotheaded Beatrice who turned her family’s life into a living hell. She couldn’t help it, but her blood was still boiling and she had the urge to release it physically.

“Argh!!!” she screamed out in frustration. 

 

Slowing down in her steps, she breathed deeply to calm herself. 

 

“...and yet my troubled soul is adrift once more, wandering lostly…”

 

Did someone just try to poetically narrate her story?

 

“...solace nowhere to be found…”

 

The faint voice sounded familiar to Beatrice along with the bitter and over complicated lines. With curiosity, Beatrice searched where the voice came from. It was a good thing the idiot had been talking continuously and with more and more passion in every word that escaped his mouth that it made it easier for her to do so.

 

“... nothing but a prisoner of his own dreams and nightmares alike. I, who is trapped in a place my memory has tried to erase. Perhaps, an inevitable metanoia.”

 

Beatrice scoffed at the cheesiness of it all. She rolled her eyes despite the bittersweet tingling in her stomach as she was reminded of someone she knew. Who else but Wirt would have had the guts to utter such words? 

 

She stopped dead in her tracks, her jaw slack and her eyes wide in disbelief at the sight before her. Brown bed head-like hair. Lanky arms and legs. A reddish pointed nose. Basically, a hopeless figure sitting defeated on the ground mumbling poetry to himself if not to the dirt.

 

_ Who else but Wirt, indeed. _


	3. Part 3

“For the record, I like your bassooning better.”

Sounding like a trapped mouse, Wirt screeched in a high-pitched manner and jumped from surprise. He then cleared his throat from embarrassment. “I - uh, that wasn’t -- that definitely wasn’t me. I don’t screech like girls. Ahh -- were you talking to me?”

Wirt pointed to himself with a sorry face while Beatrice rolled her eyes. “No, I was talking to the dirt.”

“Oh, alright then.” Wirt bowed down his head and closed his mouth. His eyebrows then twitched, thinking that something sounded familiar. “Wait, that’s stupid. Of course you were talking to me. But sorry, I think you got the wrong person. I don’t play the bassoon, I --”

“--don’t have the embrasure, embouchure whatever because you play the clarinet, right?” Beatrice sighed but couldn’t help smiling nonetheless. She missed the idiot, after all. “Just because I turned into my human form, you don’t recognize me anymore? It’s me, Wirt. Beatrice. Nice to see you again.”

The name rung a bell inside Wirt’s head but was overcome by confusion and panic, therefore being ignored.

HolyshitwhoisthispersonandhowdoessheknowIplaytheclarinet--

“Um, I’m sorry, but I -- I don’t think we’ve met, ha ha, you know me but I didn’t even know your name until this moment, ha… um… this is awkward.”

Wirt was red and looked everywhere except at the girl. The redhead gave Wirt an ‘are-you-kidding-me?’ face. It was quite unclear who look more dumbfounded between the two. However, Beatrice noticed the scratches on Wirt’s face -- especially his forehead. Did he trip and land on his head (same old absent-minded Wirt)? 

“So, what were you doing here anyway? Why did you return and how in the first place? And what the heck is with that forehead?” she bombarded him with the questions.

“Um, I don’t know. Oh, I uh, tripped, I guess?” Wirt laughed awkwardly.

Beatrice sighed and took out her hand. “Come on, let’s go get that forehead of yours treated. Besides, I ought to pay you for all the trouble I put you and Greg through.” Shyly, she looked away. “Also, I’m sorry again for what I did back then. We never really had time to have a good parting.”

What she did back then? Wirt thought to himself, but followed Beatrice anyway. After all, he didn’t really have much to do but wait till he woke up.

Wirt felt a pang in his chest at the sight of the house. The tall house stood near the river. The barn had a windmill, and he realized that he’d been here before.

“You live here?” Wirt asked. 

“Yep, but apparently the woodsman was staying here while my family were still bluebirds and used the mill to make oil for the Beast’s lamp,” she said, and laughed wryly. “Funny, he didn’t ask for permission.”

“The woodsman?”

“Uh-huh.” Beatrice gave him a worried glance. Did he really not remember any of these? 

Lively chattering could be heard as they neared the house. However, the redhead stopped by a tree. “Uh, just stay here, okay? I’m just going to sneak in and get the stuff. I don’t want to cause another ruckus, especially now. Okay? Be right back.”

She hurried off while Wirt was left to the company of a tree once more. Left with his own thoughts, He now realized how confusing it all was. The redhead knew Greg, too. And apparently, she caused them trouble. And why did ‘the woodsman’ ring a bell? 

Then what Beatrice said repeated in his mind: to make oil for the Beast’s lamp.

Wirt saw Beatrice running to him from the distance. His head started to hurt but tried to ignore it. “Here. Hold on, sit down.”

Beatrice sat next to him and patted a piece of wet cloth onto his forehead. To Wirt’s surprise, she was smiling to herself. “You’re still such a klutz. You never change, don’t you?”

Wirt sheepishly smiled. 

“Hold this for a sec.” She gave Wirt the cloth as she rummaged the bag next to her for some medicine. “Where the heck is that thing… ah! Found you! This thing is so small so you better be grateful I’m using it on you --”

When she turned around, Wirt was gone. 

What the--?

“Hey, Beatrice! What’re you doing over there? Mom’s calling you!” one of her siblings called.

“Huh? I was just --- ugh, alright! I’m coming!”


End file.
